


The Worst Roadtrips are Never Planned

by clickybang



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickybang/pseuds/clickybang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Baxter, wounded veteran, trying to keep his head down and off the radar.  No attention means no one could recognise the former Winter Soldier... until he goes and gets himself tangled up with a random stranger who seems to attract HYDRA squads like moths to a flame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Keep a low profile. Don't attract attention. Act like an average person._ Not such as easy thing when kids stared at you and retail staff assumed you were a war veteran. Not that the discounts weren't appreciated, but Bucky Barnes was uneasy with the quiet respect and gratitude he got from people who had no idea who or what he was. It seemed like the worst kind of fraud.

Returning to the US had been a calculated risk, but it had been easy to assume a new life. His own was already splintered beyond repair, and the idea of having one set of rules to live by seemed so much simpler than the alternative.

He had assumed the identity of a soldier, given to him by a contact of Steve's. A man with no family, who'd been injured in battle and later died in a roadside ditch. A man as anonymous and unknown as they could find. Bucky had taken the papers and the medal with a resigned sense of dread – postponing the inevitable – and found himself in Chicago, as far from the dead man's home state of Florida as he could bother with.

His life had settled into an unobtrusive routine, and although the nights were problematic – _so close to going insane, goddamnit, and the chains were all that stopped him_ – he was surprised to find that the change in pace was having a calming effect. As turbulent and frenetic as the city was, it was helping him rediscover more of himself than he'd expected.

Including good coffee.

There was a tiny coffee shop, an independent trader who specialised in South American blends. It wasn't like the gritty, slap-you-in-the-face brews he'd been used to back in Brooklyn, but it was infinitely better than the watery imitations the big chains offered. And there were no wannabe writers clogging up the tables.

He went there every day, taking the same table, and reading whatever paper he picked up on the way. It was a simple routine, but one he'd come to depend on as a grounding rod, something to anchor his days spent pretending he was just a wounded soldier without a devastating secret.

Just another GI Joe, with his cup of joe.

The shop was almost empty this morning. Two tables down, there was an elderly couple, sipping their drinks and chatting in Italian, brushing their fingers against each others hands. They'd been together a long time, and come to the shop once a week for their morning date. Bucky had overheard enough to know that they had scars in their history, and envied them their easy companionship. Wherever they'd come from, they'd earned their mornings together.

Beyond them was a young woman, frowning over a notebook. She had been popping in every few days, never stopping but flying out of the door gripping her travel mug and trailing a backpack leaking loose papers. Today was the first time she'd stopped long enough to sit, and she'd been staring at her book so long that her drink had gone cold.

Some student, Bucky assumed, meaning that his favourite place was about to overrun with young people, and he'd have to find another spot to spend his time.

The only other people in the shop were the man at the counter, reading a comic book while he rubbed down the shelves, and another young woman sitting at the far end, her hands wrapped around her mug and a thousand-yard look on her face.

Another day, with all the potential to explode like a grenade.

Sighing, Bucky slid the envelope out from under his paper. Steve's handwriting hadn't changed, and it gave him a hollow feeling, the thought that his routine was about to be interrupted. Turning it over, he opened the letter, flattening it out as best he could.

“Go.” The man at the counter had put down his comic book, and was staring out the window. Bucky glanced up, but couldn't see what he was looking at. At the end of the shop, the woman put her mug down and picked up a rucksack sitting at her feet. “Out the back. Go, now.”

She nodded, not looking out the window, and slid around the end of the counter. The man stood to one side and closed the door behind her, then smiled politely as two men entered the shop.

Interesting.

Bucky dropped his head, but kept an eye on the newcomers. They made a fuss of ordering their drinks, speaking loudly about their options, then leaned in and spoke quickly to the man behind the counter, who nodded and slid them a scrap of paper. Reading it before tucking it away, they stepped back and waited for their order to be filled.

Bucky felt his pulse pick up. Something was wrong, and he could feel his senses suddenly become more aware. Possibilities flicked through his mind, and although he knew he had no business being involved, the unexpected frisson of excitement surprised him.

He should keep his head down, mind his own business and concentrate on getting better. He'd been working through the steps his long-distance therapist had prescribed, and he knew that getting tangled in any local skirmishes was _not_ on the to-do list.

But he was curious, and he'd never been one to ignore a mystery. Except when he was The Soldier. Then, the only thing that mattered were his orders, and everything else was irrelevant. The argument could almost be made, then, that figuring out what he was witnessing was a step away from The Soldier, a step towards reclaiming his own life.

That was bullshit, he knew, tucking the letter back into the envelope and stuffing it in his pocket. Utter bullshit.

Standing up, he nodded to the barista, who wished him a good day and a promise of the caramels he liked for the next day. The two men glanced at him, seeing nothing but a stranger, and he slid past them with an apologetic air, stepping out into the warm morning and tossing his paper into the bin.

He didn't have long to wait. They spilled out onto the street, throwing their freshly brewed drinks into the bin, and set off towards a green car parked near the corner. Bucky fell into step behind them, not even noticing that he was stepping so light he was soundless.

The man who had taken the paper moved towards the passenger side, so Bucky went for him first. The swing was clumsy – he wasn't used to throwing punches without the counterweight of his metal arm – and the man stumbled but didn't go down.

Changing tactics, Bucky threw him against the car, yelling something about Justin and owing him money.

“Hey, man, back the fuck up!” The driver threw himself over the bonnet of the car and wrenched him away. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Sorry, man.” Bucky stepped back, shoving his fist in his pocket. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Get your eyes checked, asshole.” The man straightened his coat, running a hand over the back of his head to check for blood.

“Sorry.” Shaking his head, Bucky walked backwards until he was sure the men were getting into the car, then turned and walked quickly away, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing.

The car roared past him and screeched around the corner, and he pulled his fist from his pocket. Picking pockets was much harder these days, but the paper had been close to falling out anyway. Flicking it open, he read an address to himself, committed it to memory and tossed it away.

Again, the question of involvement popped into his head, and he tugged his coat tighter and put his head down, heading home.

It could be anything, but the girl gave any explanation a weird tilt. She didn't look like a cop, and had been paying no one any attention before the barista warned her to leave.

It was none of his business, and he was playing with fire getting himself noticed. The news had moved on from the international manhunt for the Winter Soldier of six months before, but the need to keep himself in the background was just as real. He had no doubt that the UN had taskforces looking for him, and he knew Stark, when he was ready, would come for him. Making ripples anywhere made him easier to find, and besides which, he'd been neglecting his physical training in favour of trying to fix his mind.

But this was the first time he'd been curious about much since he'd arrived in the city, and since the address was between the coffee shop and his own apartment, it wouldn't take much to just walk by and see if anything was happening.

Traffic was quiet, and he cut through an alley or two on the way, quashing the memory of the last time he'd been sneaking through Chicago. He could remember everything now, and it haunted him, but the video calls to Doctor Moritz had helped him immensely, and, during the day at least, he was able to control where his mind went and what different things evoked.

The address was for an apartment building almost identical to his own. Six storeys of squat brick and a broken security system. He didn't see the green car, and made his way up the steps as though he belonged, aware of the garbage truck at the end of the street and the woman pushing a pram further down.

The boxes were only half labelled, and the apartment he was interested in had nothing but a scratched-out set of initials. Not pausing, he glanced up the stairwell, then turned to leave as the front door swung open.

It was the woman from the coffee shop, who had escaped out the back. He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes and dropped his gaze.

“Are you following me?” She asked, hugging the rucksack to her side.

“How could I be? I got here before you.” He grinned, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Dressed in a heavy coat with one sleeve flapping freely, it probably wasn't very convincing. “Look, the guys that came into the shop after you, they might be coming here.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard them talking.” He half-shrugged. “Look, this place is on my way home. It's not like I'm going out of my way or anything.” _It's not like I'm looking for trouble._

“You heard them say they're coming here?” She sounded uncertain.

“Yeah. I didn't know you were coming here.”

“Thanks.” She smiled tightly, straightening to stand taller. “Thanks for the warning, but I'm fine.”

“Okay.”

They stood at opposite ends of the short hallway sizing each other up for a long moment, then she jumped as a car backfired outside, and the moment was gone.

“I have to go.” She sidled along the wall, keeping her distance, and Bucky stepped back, giving her as much space as he could. She darted up the stairs, pausing to watch him at the turn, and watched as he nodded to her. Turning, he pushed the front door open and stepped outside.

The wind was picking up, and he could tell winter was coming. Not the cold of a Siberian winter, of course, but something just as lonely.

He wondered where Steve was. He and Sam had melted out of the headlines after the prison break, and everyone had agreed that it was safer if they'd split up. He knew Clint had gone home but the others could be anywhere. There was a call sign that he could fall back on in case of emergency, but he knew that his own life wasn't worth calling anyone into danger for. He was listening though, in case anyone else ran into difficulty. What he owed them would take more than a lifetime to repay.

Steve would know how to talk to someone to put them at ease. Whoever she was, she was flighty and suspicious, and Bucky knew that generally there had to be a reason for that.

Wondering why he cared, he turned towards home and started walking, head bowed against the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

If Bucky's days were quiet and routine, his nights were chaos and fear. He had asked Doctor Moritz to help without drugs, not wanting to trap himself in sleep, and in the end he'd designed a system of chains attached to a timer. When Moritz had found out what he'd done, she'd reluctantly agreed that it was probably the best way to keep him from hurting anyone, and a few days later a box had arrived for him. She had come up with a way to let him escape during the night, but only if his heartrate was steady. It was a much better solution than using a simple timer to lock himself down, and it meant that he was free to leave the apartment if he felt restless.

Tonight was typical. The dreams had come for him and he'd awoken in the dark, his breath harsh in the quiet dead of night. Across the room, the clock informed it was three, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on his heartbeat.

As his breathing quietened, he was able to push the memories aside and listen for the click that signalled he was free. It took longer than usual, but he was careful to keep his frustration at bay. There was nothing like trying too hard to calm down to really wind yourself up, he'd discovered.

Free, he got up and dressed. Sleep was impossible for him now, he knew. And as much as he was desperate to put The Soldier behind him and discover who he was now, there was nothing that could clear his head as fast as a cold walk. He'd been cold for so long that it was almost a comfort to be chilled. Maybe that was why he chose Chicago, he mused, closing his apartment door quietly and heading for the stairs. Maybe he needed to feel the sting of snow to know he was still alive.

He had a regular route to walk, and settled into it at a steady pace. Six miles in a near-dead city, with only delivery trucks and the odd bakery to remind him he wasn't the only person left awake. Six miles to clear his head and try to insist to himself that he was no longer The Soldier, no longer carrying the weight of a weapon welded to his flesh.

Although it might have been nice, he thought ruefully. Not having the prosthetic make the savaged remains of his arm feel the cold much more keenly than the rest of him, and he was starting to consider Doctor Moritz' offer of a lifelike prosthetic, if only to prevent the cold seeping into his bones – he needed the cold too much for it to become an enemy.

Crossing the road, he realised he was only half a block from the woman's apartment building. Not everyone was embroiled in international terrorist plots, he told himself, and it was most likely just a girl having issues with an ex. Nothing to be sticking his nose into.

Unless she was in danger. Two men against one unarmed woman seemed a bit unfair. And he had been thinking that he needed to start doing something to help ease his conscience. It would never be wiped clean, and he'd never forgive himself for the list of victims he carried in his head, but surely helping people would go some ways to convincing himself that he wasn't a monster?

He was about to turn into her street when someone came flying around the corner, crashing into him and sending him sprawling. Rolling, he was up onto his knees and back to his feet before the other man had even registered what he'd run into.

To Bucky's complete lack of surprise, it was the man he'd stolen the address from. And he was armed.

Bucky's doubts disappeared along with the sensation of being cold and wet, and he moved without thought, dragging the man up by his throat and throwing him against the wall. Even without an arm, he still had the strength of The Soldier, and he twisted the man's arm up above his head until he dropped the gun.

“Lemme go!” The man wheezed. “That bitch is crazy!”

“Who is? The girl?” Bucky let go of his wrist and caught him under the jaw, lifting slightly.

“You're the guy from the coffee shop.” The man coughed. “Are you after her? You're welcome to her, man, she's not worth the bounty.”

“Whose bounty?”

“I don't know, some guy. Marcus jacked it up. We were supposed to knock her out but she knew we were coming. She ain't worth it.”

Bucky stared at the man, who seemed genuinely scared but not of him. Whatever he had seen, it was enough to send him running – armed – for his life. Bucky let him go and he shot sideways, taking off without bothering to pick up the pistol.

Pocketing it himself, Bucky hesitated. A bounty? That wasn't some domestic dispute gone wrong. And if she was dangerous, then he was better off staying off her radar. Unobtrusive and unnoticed was meant to be his new persona, not nosy insomniac wandering around the city with someone else's firearm.

Someone was coming. Flattening himself against the wall, he risked a peek around the corner.

It was the girl, carrying her rucksack and almost running. She had no coat on and was glancing behind herself every few steps. She didn't look dangerous, she looked terrified.

Crossing the road, she glanced to check for traffic, and saw Bucky standing on the sidewalk. She hesitated, then broke into a run, her boots loud in the early morning silence.

“Not exactly an apex predator.” Bucky murmured to himself, completely mystified.

Deciding his walk was blown to hell – there was no chance he was going to find anything close to calm now – he decided to head home. Whatever mystery he was watching could play out just as easily without his interference. He needed to keep life simple for the time being, while he tried to pick apart the threads Hydra had buried in his mind.

Simple, calm. Easy.


	3. Chapter 3

It was just before nine. Bucky was getting ready for his VA meeting – although he had no inclination to talk, he was James Baxter, a veteran who lost his arm in combat in Iraq, and keeping up that identity required more than just changing his signature. Besides which, they usually had better donuts than he could afford.

There was a knock at the door, and he checked to make sure the gun was hidden before answering. Opening it, he was surprised to see the woman from the apartment building hovering several feet away, looking ready to run.

“Who are you?” She asked defensively.

“Isn't that my line?” He returned. “You knocked on my door.”

“You warned me about those two yesterday. Who are you?”

“I'm just a guy who saw a couple of men with your address.”

“So you thought you'd just take a look?”

“Look,” He hesitated. “The guy at the coffee shop gave them your address. If you're looking to lie low, maybe don't go back there.”

“What?” She looked uncertain. “Joseph gave them my details?”

“He had written down, gave it right to them.”

“But he's my friend.”

“You need better friends.” He tilted his head, frowning. “You're in trouble?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Just… trying to figure out how I managed to gain a stalker the same day I get robbed.”

“Stalker?” He grinned. “Again, you came to my door.”

“Why were you on the street this morning?”

“I don't sleep too good.” He shrugged. “Walking helps.”

She nodded, then jumped as a door slammed further down the corridor.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” He asked almost in spite of himself. She was nervous, but then again, she'd just banged on the door of a stranger to question him. Anyone would be nervous.

“I don't know you.”

“I don't know you.” He returned reasonably. “You could be a con artist, deciding an injured vet is an easy mark.”

“You're a vet?”

“War veteran.” He lifted his shoulder, letting her see the empty sleeve, and she nodded slowly.

“You're a soldier.”

“I was.” _The Soldier. Not a, The. Capital T, capital S._ Closing his eyes, he grimaced. “Look, I know you don't know me, and you don't have to. But I have no reason to lie to you. Don't trust that Joseph guy, he sold you out to those men.”

“I don't even know who they are.” She leaned against the wall, and he was struck by how tired she looked. “Do you?”

“No.” He knew he should be closing the door, knew he should be getting ready to go his meeting, knew he shouldn't be getting involved. But… “One of them ran into me when I was walking this morning.”

“Ran into you?”

“Came around the corner and hit me like a ton of bricks. He was pretty spooked.”

“He shot his friend.” She gestured vaguely with her hands, then folded her arms with a shudder. Bucky nodded, recognising the signs. She was in shock and running on adrenaline.

“You have someplace to go?” He asked, softening his tone. She swallowed, then shook her head. “You want to come in, calm down a bit?”

“I don't know who you are.” She repeated.

“I'm someone offering you somewhere to hide, and a cup of tea.”

“Tea?” She looked dubious, biting down on a giggle.

“It's meant to help calm your nerves.” He shrugged. “I guess it kind of helps.”

“You have nerve problems?”

“I have… memories.” Again, he lifted his shoulder and caught a flash of understanding in her gaze. Not sympathy, but understanding. Curious.

“You look like you need a friend. Someone who isn't going to sell you out.”

“And you're that guy?”

“I wouldn't know where to sell you.” He grinned and she laughed wearily. There was another bang down the hall and she inhaled sharply.

“Okay.” She stood up. “But just water, not tea.”

“You don't like tea?”

“I don't know the taste, wouldn't know if you've spiked it.” She stepped towards the door and he stood to one side, pleased he'd closed the bedroom door.

“Nice place.” She offered, looking around. He caught no sign of sarcasm in her comment, and shut the door quietly, not wanting to spook her.

“I don't need much.”

There wasn't much. A computer, but no TV. Overflowing bookshelves, a frame with his stolen medals balanced on a pile of books. No photos, but a stack of CDs. Two mismatched chairs but no sofa. Growing up in the 1930s he was used to not having much, and living on an army pension meant he couldn't afford much more anyhow.

Sitting at the tiny dining table, she watched as he set a kettle to boil.

“My name is James.” He told her over his shoulder, making sure she could see that he was dropping only a teabag into one of two mugs.

“Baxter.” She nodded. “I saw your name on the letterboxes. I'm Alice.”

“Nice to meet you, Alice.” He leaned against the counter, watching the kettle. “What's your plan?”

“What do you mean?”

“You ran from a couple of guys in the middle of the night, now you're sitting at the table of a complete stranger.” He smiled to take the edge off the words. “You don't have a plan, do you?”

“What can I say, my whole fugitive-on-the-run skills are a bit… non-existent.” She let her bag slide onto the floor. Thinking her choice of words were a bit close to home, he studied her for a long moment, but could see no sign that she was any kind of agent. No more than twenty-five, she was average height, brown-eyed and dark-haired. There was, he decided, something exotic in her heritage. Middle-Eastern, probably, although her accent was all-American. She looked like an overtired student, dressed for much warmer weather and in desperate need of some sleep.

“You need to call someone.” He told her. “Let someone you trust know where you are.”

“There's no one.” She bit her lip. “So if you're a serial killer, you've just found your perfect victim.”

He turned the heat off and poured, tea for himself and hot water for her.

“I'm not a danger to you.” He told her, adding silently to himself that it was technically true, so long as he was awake.

“Then maybe a teabag would be nice.” She took the mug and watched carefully as he picked up the jar of teabags and set it down in front of her. She dropped one into her mug and waited to see him drink first, before stirring her own.

“There's really no one to look out for you?” He asked. He'd thought himself an anomaly, while the rest of the world had a comfortable safety net. It was one of the things he'd worried would out him as a fugitive.

“Joseph was the only person who knew where I lived.” She sighed. “So you're probably not lying about him selling me out.”

“How do you live a city where no one knows you?”

“Oh, you're such a socialite?” She asked, arching one eyebrow and looking for all the world like a young female Steve. He snorted.

“I go and get coffee. I go to meetings. People know my name.”

“Meetings? Like, AA?”

“VA meetings. It's… sort of like group therapy for people who left bits of themselves overseas.”

“That's a terrible way of putting it.” She laughed. He shrugged. Losing his arm had been a pretty minor event, all things considered, although sometimes it seemed like it was the moment that Bucky had been doomed to lose himself. Given a choice, he'd much rather have control of his mind back than his arm, even if the arm was the only thing that people seemed to judge him by these days. Unless they knew who he was. Tony Stark's face flashed through his mind.

“The guy that ran from your apartment.” He changed the subject. “He said there was a bounty on you.”

“You talked to him?” Her smile dropped from her face and she looked wary.

“He knocked me down. We got into a bit of a fight. I asked him why he was in such a hurry.”

“And that's what he told you?”

“He said you weren't worth the money.” Bucky tried to look sympathetic. “I thought maybe you were running from an ex-boyfriend or something.”

“Or something.” She said glumly. Looking at him speculatively, she wrapped her hands around her mug. “You really don't know why they were looking for me?”

“No. But it doesn't matter.” He stared into his tea. It was supposed to be calming, and he was supposed to drink it before sleeping, but it wasn't particularly nice. He thought it tasted like lawn clippings. “What do you need?”

“Ha.” She cocked a grin at him. When he met her gaze evenly, the smile faded and she sighed. “I need some sleep, and I need someone I can trust.”

“Sleep can be tricky, but the second part we can deal with. Come on.”

Ignoring her confused look, he plucked the mug out from her hands and put it in the sink with his one. She picked her bag up and looked at the closed bedroom door apprehensively.

“Not here.” He grinned. “Come with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Rosalie.” Bucky grinned his most charming smile. “You look like lovely today.”

Rosalie was at least sixty, and lived two doors down from Bucky. She leaned against the door, eyeing Alice suspiciously.

“Mister Baxter.” She said primly.

“This is my sister Alice.” Bucky gestured over his shoulder. “Look, she's in a bit of trouble with her husband and could do with some help.”

“Trouble?” Rosalie narrowed her eyes.

“He's not a nice guy. And he's coming to Chicago to look for her. It's… a bit of an emergency.”

“Ah.” Understanding flooded her face and she looked to Alice sympathetically, who did her best to look desperate. Considering the fatigue etched in her eyes, it wasn't difficult.

“He will be coming to your apartment?”

“It'll be his first stop. He knows I don't like him. It would be better if she wasn't there. It's just for tonight, I promise.”

“You're a good man, James Baxter.” She opened the door widely. “Come in, both of you.”

 

It took less than ten minutes for Rosalie to announce that Alice was more than welcome to hide from her abusive husband, declaring that men would never change, except for James of course, who had suddenly been elevated to hero status in the old lady's opinion. Bucky, letting the one-sided conversation roll over him, excused himself as soon as he could, promising to check in on them later, once the fictional husband had satisfied himself that Alice was nowhere to be found.

Alice herself, tired and struggling to remain alert in the overly-warm apartment, seemed grateful, and he made his escape back to the safety of his own apartment, wondering what he thought he was doing.

“Not letting her in the bedroom, for a start.” He muttered, closing the apartment door and leaning against it. No matter how trusting someone was, seeing a mattress covered in chains and electrical doodads was certain to send alarm signals that he could do without.

Washing the mugs, he checked the time and left, heading straight for Alice's apartment.

There were no signs of police outside, and he headed up the stairs as though he belonged. There was nothing as secure as a sense of entitlement, he thought grimly, climbing the three flights of stairs without encountering a single person.

Her apartment was a corner unit, and he wasn't surprised to find the door closed but not locked. He made a pretense of speaking to someone as he entered, just in case there was anyone watching, then entered and locked the door behind himself.

The apartment was a wreck. In amongst the overturned furniture, he found a large pool of blood but no body and no shell casings. With the amount of blood left behind, it was clear no one had been by to clean up, meaning the man who was shot had made his own way out, or been carried.

He searched the rest of the apartment, finding nothing that suggested she was hiding anything. Or at least, nothing tangible. She was definitely keeping something to herself, but until he earned her trust, there was no way she was going to tell him.

That was the other reason for taking her to Rosalie for some sleep. Even with only one arm, he was a stranger, and being a war vet, possibly a dangerous one. The only way Rosalie was a danger to anyone was by way of her cooking, which was so heavy it ran the risk of instant heart attack. If Alice was going to trust him, he had to give her a reason, and Rosalie was it.

Exactly why he was bothering was still as much of a mystery to him as Alice herself. Maybe it was boredom.

Leaving the apartment, he locked it behind himself and headed for the cafe, arriving only fifteen minutes later than usual. Joseph greeted him warmly and took his order. Bucky took his customary seat, watching until the other customers had left.

“That girl.” He spoke softly, just loud enough for Joseph to hear. The barista looked up politely, thinking he meant the young woman who had just left. Bucky shook his head. “The one you told to go, yesterday. What's the story?”

“Illegal immigrant.” Joseph grinned easily, putting down the cup he was holding. “There were cops outside.” Bucky followed the movement of his hands, feeling his pulse suddenly jump. Either he could beat the truth out of Joseph, drawing attention to himself, or he could leave it and hope Alice would tell him. It was an easy decision. Thanking Joseph, he left the coffee shop casually, knowing he could no longer pretend he had the option of bailing, and knowing that he'd never come back to this place.

 

“She's asleep.” Rosalie was standing in his apartment, holding something in a casserole dish that reminded Bucky he hadn't eaten all day. “She'll stay with me tonight.”

“That's a good idea.”

“And the husband?”

“Came here earlier, insisted on looking around. He's probably getting drunk and angry somewhere.” Bucky shrugged. “I'd say he'll be leaving in the morning, try his luck at our dad's place down south.”

“She's a good girl.” Rosalie put the steaming dish down on the table. “You have serving spoons?”

“Yes, thank you.” He hid a smile. “Thank you for doing this.”

“She deserves better.”

“Yeah.” He ushered the old lady to the door. “I'll come get her in the morning, once he's gone.”

“Good night, James.” She stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, surprising him. Apparently her opinion of him had improved more than he'd thought. Bustling out of the apartment, she closed the door behind herself, leaving Bucky standing in bemusement.


	5. Chapter 5

The Soldier. The Asset. The man, lying trapped in his own bed, his pulse hammering in his ears and threatening to burst his traitorous brain.

Bucky forced himself to swallow. Dreams of memories weren't going to help anyone. Being chained to his own floor wasn't going to help anyone.

It was four in the morning, and Bucky was done for the night. No more sleep. He waited for his heartrate to drop, the now-familiar click of the locks coming free signalling that he could get to his feet.

About the only good thing about his training, he thought ruefully, was that no matter how bad the dreams got, he never made a sound. He'd been worried about disturbing the neighbours, but apparently all the noise and chaos was restricted to the inside of his head.

Small mercies, he supposed, pulling his clothes together. All part of the act, he knew. A quiet man, keeping himself to himself. Except he'd somehow stashed a stranger with a neighbour, broken into her apartment to look for clues when he wasn't sure what the mystery even was, and now he had to figure out the next move when he didn't even know the layout of the game.

As much as he hated the thought, sometimes it was easier to rely on orders from elsewhere.

He slammed the cupboard shut, squashing the thought, as there was a tap on the door. Whirling, he scooped up the gun before registering where he'd even left it, and checked the peephole.

Alice was standing in the hallway, fully dressed and looking around furtively.

Pressing the barrel of the gun to his nose, he exhaled, calming his heartbeat. Putting the pistol on top of the fridge, he opened the door and let her in.

“You said you didn't sleep much.” She said by way of excuse. He went to nod, realising the bedroom door was open. Closing the front door, he pushed past her to close it, ignoring the curious look on her face.

“Why didn't you want to let me sleep here?” She asked, dropping her bag on the table. The girl travels light, Bucky noted. Leaves nothing behind. She's been on the run before, or she's expecting something bad to happen.

“I don't sleep that well.” He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes, not believing him. “It's not something I want other people to see.”

“And here I thought you were embarrassed about snoring.” She sat down at the table.

“What are you doing here, Alice?” He asked.

“You might not snore but Rosalie certainly does.”

“I don't mean here in my apartment.” He took the other dining chair and sat down opposite. “Why are you on the run from people with guns?”

“I don't know.”

“I don't actually believe that.” He matched her tone, keeping his expression light. She looked dubious.

“I still don't know you.” She remarked.

“Joseph told me you were an illegal immigrant on the run from the police.” He watched her expression carefully as he added, “Joseph has a Hydra tattoo on his wrist.”

The colour slid from her face and she turned green, gripping the table. Bucky nodded, his suspicion confirmed.

“You know Hydra?” She whispered.

“I know what they're capable of.” He allowed, tasting bile at the back of his throat. “I'm not Hydra.” Tilting his head, he watched his fingers trace the pattern on the formica table top. “Why are you running from them?”

She stared at him for a long moment, chewing her lip.

“I've run from them myself.” He said softly. “They're not easy to escape.”

“You expect me to believe that much of a coincidence? That you just happen to find me when they do?” She clutched her bag, ready to run.

“I wasn't looking for you.” He shrugged. “And to be honest, I'd rather not have anything to do with you, knowing they're coming for you. But at the same time, I'm not leaving anyone for them if I can help it.”

“What do you know about them?”

“I know how ruthless they are.” There wasn't much more he could say without compromising himself.

“They killed my dad. They thought… he could help them.”

“And he wouldn't?”

“He couldn't!” There was a flare of something in her eyes. Anger? Bucky kept his expression calm. “Not what they wanted, it wasn't… what he could do.”

“And you?”

“They think I'm like him.”

The silence drew out between them, neither willing to make the first move. Eventually Bucky sighed.

“I can help you escape them.”

“If I tell you everything?” She asked sarcastically.

“I don't need to know.” He shrugged. “But I can help you get out of the city.”

Another silence while she considered her options.

“How long have you been running from them?” He asked.

“Since they came out, but they've always been watching.” That surprised him. It must have shown on his face, because she flashed a smile. “It was SHIELD, before. And when SHIELD fell, they stopped being subtle about keeping tabs on us, and when they decided they had a use for us, they came. And they killed my father.”

“Right.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Hydra are never the good guys.” He had no idea how to steer the conversation without it getting too dangerous for either of them. Not for the first time, he wished he had Steve's way with words. “Look, helping you find somewhere else to be, somewhere away from them, would be a good deed, and I need to start earning some of those.”

“Well.” She sighed. “I suppose now you know who to sell me to.”

“The Mafia would have been easier to deal with.” That got the grin he was hoping for, and he got to his feet. “Here.” He pulled the gun down from the fridge. “You know how to use this?”

“Point, shoot.” She held it gingerly, but knew where to check the safety. “Where did it come from?”

“The guy that ran from your apartment.” He watched as she nodded and tucked it into a pocket in her bag.

“Guess you're not putting me on a plane, then.” She smiled nervously.

“Guess not.” Airport security was not something he wanted to be anywhere near anyway.

“So, what now?”

There was a soft beep; his computer was turned on but the screen was off. Getting up, he turned it on and checked the notifications. He'd hacked into the security feed from the foyer the day he'd moved in, and it sent him an alert with every entry and exit. Four-thirty in the morning was not really visiting hours, and he opened the camera feed, sensing Alice was standing behind him.

“Oh shit.” She said softly. Four men, dressed head-to-foot in black. Bucky felt a wave of cold calm wash over him, and he straightened. Throwing the bedroom door open, he went straight for the bag sitting under the window, ignoring Alice's reaction to the heavy chains lying across the floor.

“Upstairs.” He spun her around and they moved toward the door, she scooping her bag up as they went.

The corridor was deserted, and they headed up in silence, listening for any sound below. Arriving at the door, Bucky held his hand up to warn her to wait, then slung the bag over his shoulder and opened the door softly.

The rooftop was deserted, from what he could see, and they shut the door softly behind them, moving towards the roof of the next building, where they should be able to find a fire escape.

Halfway across the open space, the roof puffed up in a cloud of dust as bullets thudded down. Grabbing Alice's hand, Bucky broke into a run, half-dragging her to the relative safety of the low wall that separated the two buildings.

As he moved, he could feel himself slipping into autopilot, calculating where the shooter was and where the best cover would be. The girl behind him did her best to keep up but he was naturally faster, and he all but wrenched her shoulder out of its socket hauling her over the wall and throwing her to the ground.

He flipped her over, fumbling in the dark to find the pocket that held the gun, and she pulled it out, flicking the safety off and handing it over. He pushed her head down then turned to the task at hand – _only one hand goddamnit_ – with a detachment that was both familiar and repugnant.

The shooter was above them, to the west, and he could see a flashing red light – comms unit, most likely. Taking aim, he knew the bullet wouldn't be fatal but it would cause a distraction.

“Get ready to run for the fire escape.” He hissed, squeezing the trigger.

There were only six bullets in the magazine, and he tossed the gun as he lurched to his feet. The two of them sped across the dark roof expecting bullets to start raining down around them, but they made the relative safety of the fire escape.

“James?”

“Quiet until we make the street.” He forced himself to move slowly, as quietly as he could down the creaky fire escape. Above him, Alice managed to make even less noise, dropping from level to level in complete silence.

If it was just a single squad, then they weren't expecting trouble, which meant they didn't know who he was, yet. Odds were they'd know before dawn, and his cover was blown.

He'd be mad about it, except he'd been known at the coffee shop well before he'd laid eyes on Alice. The barista was Hydra, which meant it had only been a matter of time. And because he'd been careful because of Alice, he hadn't been caught completely unaware.

Getting to the bottom of the fire escape, he dropped to the ground and turned to catch Alice, who dropped down next to him.

“What the hell?” She demanded. “Chains?”

“Later.” He started to move away down the alley, watching for any movement. Alice hesitated behind him, then glanced up and decided that a squad of armed men was probably the worst of her two choices.

They loped down the alley to the street and cut across, angling to stay in the shadows as much as possible. By some stroke of luck, a taxi happened to be going past and he flagged it down.

“The Loop.” He checked his bag, then watched the traffic – or lack of – as they sped away from his nice, quiet life.


	6. Chapter 6

The taxi dropped them off downtown, and they started to mingle with the club crowd, which was thinning rapidly.

“James.”  She caught his arm and dragged him out of the foot traffic.  “Wait.”

“What?  We need to keep moving.”

“Just wait a moment.  What's with all the… things in your bedroom?”

“I told you, I don't sleep so good.”

“They're for you?”  She looked shocked.

“They stop me hurting myself.”  He shrugged, not wanting to get into it.  Her expression shifted, and she nodded, looking nervous but no longer terrified.  Looking around, she suggested they go for a walk in the park.  Bucky followed her gaze, nodding.  They'd be able to find a quiet spot to wait for the sun to come up, then they could figure out their next move.

Turning towards the park, they started making their way down the street, trying not to move too fast.  Alice walked next to him for half a block, lost in thought, then looked up at him and looped an arm through his, apparently coming to a decision to trust him.

She was wearing a thin jacket, and he could feel her shaking.  Some of the detachment faded, and he put his arm around her, feeling how cold she was.  They slowed down a little more, looking for all the world like a couple.

“Tell me,”  She spoke conversationally as they finally made the relative safety of the park.

“Tell you about the chains?”

“They recommend that at your meetings?”

“Not exactly.”  He flashed a grin.

“And they really help?”

“They stop me from moving.”  He shrugged awkwardly.  “Sleepwalking out of a fourth floor window is probably less fun than it sounds.”

“Seems a bit extreme.”  She said doubtfully.  “You sure you're not a serial killer?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“No you're not, or no you're not sure?”

“Choose.”  He withdrew his arm, stepping away.  Serial killer wasn't quite the right term, but it was close enough.  A hundred faces flashed through his mind and he looked around.  The early cafes would be opening soon, and they could find something hot to eat.  He wondered if his apartment was still in one piece, and if they'd found the second computer yet.

There was a bench just ahead.  Trees leaned over it, shading it from the lamppost further along, and he sat down at the darker end.

“Do you have a cellphone?”  He asked.  She nodded, pulling it out of her bag.  “They'll be able to track this.  Is there anything special on it you need to keep?”

“No.  Just… no.”

He smashed against the back of the bench, scooping the remains up and making sure the sim and memory cards were bent and buckled before dumping it into the bin behind him.

“Why didn't you throw it out of the taxi?”  She asked curiously.

“It would have made us memorable.”  More memorable than a one-armed man and a girl dressed for a much warmer night, anyway.

“Should we move from here, then?  Are we safe?”

“We can see them coming from here.”  He nodded at the main entrance.  “We can move if you want.”

“I feel kind of exposed.”  She stood up and they moved on, towards the pedestrian bridge.  There would be early-morning runners out soon, but for now they had the place more or less to themselves.

“We need to get out of the city.”

“Yeah.”  She slowed down.  “And then what?”

“I need to get in touch with some people who can help you.”

“You know people?”  She caught up to his speed.  “Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“Can you speak any other languages?”

“No.”

That made it a little more difficult, but not impossible.  Now that he was sure Hydra were behind them, his instinct was to leave the country.   _ _What instinct?  Not Barnes's.  The Soldier was fight or flight, and with the burden of a civilian, flight was the most logical step.__   He shook his head.  The Soldier would have cut his losses or worse, turned her over to Hydra.  He glanced at her; she was keeping pace with him but barely, almost skipping to keep up.  He slowed down.

“Are you going to tell me why Hydra think you're so important?”  He asked.  She jumped, looking guilty.

“I don't know.”  She shrugged unconvincingly, and he felt a flash of anger.  He'd just thrown his new identity, his safe life, to one side to make sure she didn't get a bullet in her head – He stopped.  Anger might be justified, but it was also the driving force behind The Soldier, and he knew he couldn't afford to make a mistake.

She caught the shifting emotions crossing his face and stopped.  “They – Hydra, SHIELD, whoever – they thought my dad had some kind of power.  Something they could use, but they were wrong.  He was special, but it wasn't what they thought.  He tried to tell them, and they killed him for it.”

“They weren't shooting to kill you.”  Bucky's voice sounded too calm; he was slipping into the numb persona he was meant to be leaving behind, but he didn't care.  “The first two thugs were supposed to be claiming a bounty on you, that means you get taken alive.  The shooter on the roof was shooting in front of you, to stop you running.  They need you alive for something.”

“I honestly don't know!”  If his voice was completely calm, hers was close to breaking, and she scowled at him, trying to keep herself calm.  “I don't know what they want from me, I don't know what they want me to do.  I don't know why they think I can do it, I don't even know who it is!”  She took a deep breath and let it out noisily, trying to calm down slightly.  In the still pre-dawn, sound carried well, and they were both aware that there could be people around.  “I appreciate your help, Mister Baxter, I really do, but you're asking for answers that I don't have.  Three days ago I was just a bookstore employee, and now I'm running around the city with a guy I don't know, dodging bullets and climbing fire escapes.  I'm not trained for this, and I have no idea what's going on.”  She hugged herself tightly.  “I just… I don't even know.”

Letting her arms fall to her sides, she shook her head, apparently running out of words, and wandered off down the path.  Bucky didn't move, listening to her move away.

Some of what she was saying made sense.  The emotion behind her words melted some of his detachment, and he scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing he'd never found Joseph's coffee shop.  Maybe he had no right to question her; it was clear that she was a civilian, with no specialist training and no idea about what was chasing her.  That meant she was an easy mark, or would be if he turned around and went home.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wasn't going to happen.  Fighting with Steve, and seeing the lengths his friend had gone to in order to help him, he knew he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to live up to Steve's impression of him.  He had to do the right thing, because doing anything less would be letting his best friend down.  After everything that had happened, failing Steve Rogers was simply unthinkable.


	7. Chapter 7

“Here.” She held the coffee out to him and he took it, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. “There's a coffee cart down around the corner.” She sat down next to him, smiling nervously. “I put a heap of perfume on, and told him I was doing my first-ever walk of shame. If anyone asks, he'll only have seen a single woman sneaking home after a hookup, not a nervous couple.”

Bucky nodded approvingly. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

“What are we going to do?” She sipped her drink, watching the sidewalk.

“There's a greyhound station a few blocks from here.” He let the heat from the coffee soak into his hand, cradling it carefully.

“Nice. Destination?”

“Washington.”

“State or city?”

“Capital.” It was a tactical decision, and it was risky, but the fact was, he wasn't used to operating without his arm. He knew it had been recovered for research, and he knew that T'Challa had offered to rebuild it. He'd left before deciding, but the last time he'd spoken to Steve, his friend had told him that not only had the Wakandan come through, he'd brought it back to the States using his diplomatic privileges.

All he had to do was break cover to get it.

And stash Alice somewhere safe first.

He was going to put the call out, he knew. There were people who would be in a much better position to help her, but doing so without exposing himself would be tricky.

 

The sun was coming up by the time they arrived at the bus station. Stale sandwiches made for a quick breakfast, and Alice bought their tickets to DC without comment. They waited in the terminal, not wanting to put themselves in front of any extra security cameras, and sat in an awkward silence for the two hours before their bus was due to leave.

Bucky was turning the situation over in his mind. Eventually, he got up and managed to find a payphone, tucked away in the back of the terminal like a forgotten relic. Leaving a message at a number he'd memorised, he wondered if it would be easier to just go home and wait for Hydra.

Easier, yes. Safer, not by a long shot, not least for himself. He didn't know how many logbooks there were in existence, but it would only take one person saying the right words to undo every second of the life he'd managed to create for himself. Even then, it was a minor loss compared to what he was capable of, if he was given the order.

_I'm not complying._ He shook the thought off and returned to his seat beneath the security cameras.

“This is a twelve hour bus ride.” Alice spoke softly, staring at her feet. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I don't get carsick.”

“No, but you'll sleep.” She glanced up at him nervously. “I don't think they allow chains as carry-on.”

“I won't sleep.” He shrugged. He could stay awake for days if he had to. “I'll be fine.”

She smiled at him sympathetically and he wondered why she was being so nice to him. Sure, he'd kept her in one piece while they were on the roof, but that didn't mean they were suddenly friends. Did it? The last friends he'd had were the Howling Commandos, and their fates… well, that was one more nightmare he had to deal with. Steve was the only one to come through unscathed, and even then Bucky knew his friend was carrying too big of a burden for one man, even a man with super strength.

He had no idea how normal people had relationships, platonic or otherwise. He glanced at Alice, who was tucked up into her seat mulling over a cheap crossword book.

“No.” She crossed something out and he started guiltily. It wasn't for him to make assumptions about her. He was there because she'd needed help, and now he had no choice but to see it through. Once that was done, he could disappear again, find a quiet bolt hole to mull over how it was that he managed to find trouble no matter what.

“Come on.” Their bus was the next one due out, and he stood and stretched. Another few minutes and he'd be able to relax slightly.

“I'll be right back.” She tucked the book away and glanced at the bathrooms across the wide foyer. “Wait for me?”

“Right here.” He sat down again, nodding. “You're the one with the tickets, remember.”

She flashed a grin and disappeared across the floor, mingling with the other early-morning passengers.

Canada, he decided. She'd be safe enough in Canada, and there wouldn't be any language problems. As for himself, there was a backup identity available for him in Philadelphia if he needed it, but if it wasn't to his taste, he'd head back to Eastern Europe. As much as he resented The Soldier and everything associated with him, there was something he liked in the small villages around the edge of the former Soviet state.

People were boarding their bus, and he stood, searching for Alice. She came out of the bathroom, moving in the opposite direction to the flow of people with her head down. Behind her, a woman kept less than a step away, and Bucky could tell from her gait that she was holding her arm up. A weapon, he knew.

Pushing through the crowd, he made clear ground just as they disappeared through an exit door, and he broke into a run. There were too many witnesses for them to make a scene, and he stood a good chance of disarming the woman if he caught them before they made it to a vehicle.

The exit led to a service corridor, and Bucky burst through it at a dead run. They were only thirty feet ahead, and as the doors crashed open both spun around. Moving with unnatural speed, he covered the distance fast enough that the woman was still lifting the gun when he crashed into her. They hit the floor was a hard enough thump that he felt something break beneath him – _ribs, at least two_ – and he rolled back to his feet and continued running.

“Bus is off the agenda.” He grabbed Alice's hand and ran, trying not to drag her. They shot out of the corridor into a loading bay, where car and two trucks were parked.

_Stop, disable combatants, regroup._ The Soldier's protocols clanged through his brain and he skidded to a halt, ducking behind a rubbish skip.

“Stay here, stay down.” He didn't stop to see if she'd understood. _If they thought they could interrupt his mission, they were sorely mistaken._

The detachment was stronger now, and he ripped the door of the nearest truck open. Three men were inside, kneeling over a stretcher of some kind. He dealt with them without breaking a sweat – _just necks and kneecaps_ – and slammed the door hard enough to shift the truck sideways a few feet.

The next truck was empty, as was the car. He surveyed the area but it seemed empty, and he took a deep breath.

_Disable combatants. Regroup. Continue the mission._ The next step… he shook his head. What the fuck? The Soldier was supposed to be kept at bay during the day. He only had to deal with it at night. But… he looked at the truck, and the spreading pool of blood dribbling from the door. Beyond that, Alice was still crouched behind the skip, watching him with wide eyes.

There was a bang behind her and she glanced back, then got to her feet to run.

The car. Bucky kicked the driver's window in and popped the locks. An older model, it had no alarm and he ripped the ignition open as Alice threw open the back door.

“She's coming!” Breathless, she tossed her bag into the front and scrambled over the seat as he hotwired the car – _this would be easier with two goddamned hands_ – and slammed it into gear.

They left the docking bay with a squeal of tyres, but no gunshots followed them, and they pulled out into the morning traffic and slowed down, joining the commuters and hoping they blended in enough.

“Will they know where we were going?” Alice asked, tugging her seatbelt on.

“Yeah.” He needed her to be quiet, needed to reconsider what the hell had just happened. The Soldier took over, with no triggers. That was bad, very bad.


End file.
